Enough
by McAbbyAddict
Summary: A few of Abby's thoughts after the team's return from Somalia. McAbby. Now multi-chapter. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This popped into my head at random when I should have been sleeping**. **I hope you like it**.** F.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing NCIS...**

Abby lay awake.

The ridiculously long, hot bath she'd indulged in hadn't had its desired effect. She was still awake, still stressed from the past few days, still endlessly reliving the moment the elevator doors had opened to reveal the team.

She'd ignored the men, her men, and gone straight to Ziva and that was right and fitting at the time because she knew they were alive and mostly well, but she'd thought Ziva was dead. But now she twisted restlessly, unable to get comfortable, because the image of the men, her family, bloodied, bruised, dirty, wouldn't leave her mind and she worried. She hadn't let herself worry while they were gone, and now it was stored up. She didn't worry about what might happen to them, but what might become of what had happened to them. She worried about Gibbs, whether using his sniper's skills would bring back bad memories. She worried about Tony, about what being forced to bare his soul might do to the surprisingly private federal agent. And McGee... McGee was different to the other two. Training aside, this wasn't what he did. She worried about him even more than she worried about the other two. Because in her surrogate family, Gibbs was her dad, Tony was her brother... but Tim was hers.

Unable to lie there any longer, she flung back the blanket and got out of the coffin. She wanted to see him, to make sure he was ok. She hunted for the keys she'd dropped when she got home, while the compulsion to check on him grew stronger until it became more of a need than a want. She needed to see that the cuts under the blood were minor, that the dirt had washed off, that the bruises would heal, that however he became unconscious wouldn't become serious... that under the tough exterior he'd displayed for the mission, he was still her Timmy, the one she'd come to depend on and even love in a way that had nothing to do with canines, but was too new and too scary to admit to anyone.

Finally triumphant in her search for keys, she rushed out of her apartment, not caring that it was cold out and she didn't have a jacket, too desperate to make certain he was ok.

...

She chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. His apartment was in darkness; he was probably asleep, like she should be. The compulsion to see him warred with the knowledge that he was exhausted. Compulsion won. She used the key he'd given her to take care of Jethro to let herself quietly in. The big German Shepherd was awake in his bed, looking at her curiously but not interested enough to stir. As silently as she could, she made her way through the apartment to his room, peeking carefully around the door. He was sound asleep, the dark rings under his eyes showing clearly how exhausted he was and the even darker shadows showing the bruises. She watched him for a moment, feeling slightly guilty about invading his privacy like this but somehow unable to make herself leave. He was ok and still looked like her Timmy. Unable to resist the temptation, she slid under the covers on the vacant side of the bed, holding her breath lest he react with weapons drawn, being the highly trained federal agent that he was. But all he did was roll over and loop one arm about her waist, pulling her closer and murmuring her name. She smiled delightedly- so he dreamt about her, did he? - and snuggled up to his chest and closed her eyes. They'd talk in the morning; he was safe and warm and home where he belonged. For now that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok, so this was supposed to be a one shot. But McGee's side of the story just needed to be told, lol.**

McGee was exhausted.

Between jetlag, stress, and being beaten by Salim and his henchmen, he hadn't exactly had a lot of sleep lately. The closest thing he'd had to proper sleep was the unconsciousness brought on by Salim's treatment, and he was pretty certain that didn't count.

By the time he'd made it home, he'd barely had enough energy to shower and remove the many layers of dirt. His clothes he ignored; they were too far gone to save, even if he'd wanted to. He'd stumbled out of the bathroom and fallen across the bed, expecting to fall asleep almost instantly.

His mind had other ideas, however. It wasn't the first time his over active brain had prevented him from sleeping; usually when it did, he wrote. But tonight he didn't have the energy to sit up, let alone get up and typing. He knew what it was that was bothering him, and as he told himself at the time, it was completely ridiculous. That phase of their relationship had been over for years. So why, just for a fraction of a second, had he wished he could trade places with Ziva when Abby hugged her like she was never going to let go?

Scowling at himself, he knew he knew the answer. As much as he tried to deny it, and as deeply as he'd tried to bury it, he loved Abby Scuito. He tried not to moon over her, tried to ignore the flashes of jealousy, and tried to get over her, but no one else ever measured up and he was pretty sure no one ever would. As he had many times before, he told himself that she was his friend, and that should be, had to be enough. It was his last thought before sleep overtook him.

...

He half-woke from a particularly vivid dream about Abby when he felt the covers lifted. Somehow, in his dreaming state, it made perfect sense that she would be there. So he murmured her name and pulled her closer to him before returning to deep sleep.

...

His mind pulled him from much needed rest, hours later. Reluctantly he awoke, the sense of something being hinky too strong to ignore. Blinking blearily against the light, he reached one hand out for the alarm clock, then froze. Someone was in his bed. Cautiously he turned his head to look at them, not wanting to disturb his unexpected visitor. He recognised the black hair and the faint gunpowder scent almost simultaneously. Abby. That raised more questions than it answered. How had she gotten into his bed? And more importantly, why was she there? His jaw dropped a little as he recalled his dream of the night before. It had been vivid and detailed and very, very good. They hadn't...

He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that he, at least, was still fully clothed. It wasn't that he would object to them having sex- he never had before- but he would at least like to remember it. So what, then, was she doing occupying the normally vacant side of his bed?

As he lay there, trying to figure out a reasonable explanation for her presence, her eyes fluttered open and she fixed him with her pale green gaze.

"Hi" she murmured.

"Um, hi?"


	3. Chapter 3

Abby felt the telltale flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks. What had seemed so eminently reasonable last night didn't seem like such a good idea this early in the morning. What had possessed her to make her crawl into bed with her best friend while he slept?

She watched the confused expression in his eyes grow, and knew that any moment now, he was going to ask her for an explanation she didn't have. She had been and still was worried about her friend, but worry wasn't really a reasonable explanation for invading his bed the way she had.

The cuts and bruises looked worse today. It made her both angry and sad that someone had done that to her Timmy; wordlessly she reached out and traced along one of the bruises with her fingertip. Instantly his expression changed from confused to concerned. "Abby, are you ok?"

Strangely, she felt tears prick at her eyes. He'd been beaten and knocked unconscious, and he was worried about her? She shifted across the few inches of space that separated them and buried her face against his chest. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"I was worried about you" she admitted.

...

He held on a little tighter at her words. He knew she'd be worried when she found out their plan, but it didn't make it any easier to hear her say it. "Hey, we're ok" he reassured her. "Tony and Gibbs and Ziva-"

She cut him off. "I know they're going to be fine." She was silent a minute, then raised her head and looked at him. "I was talking about you. You really scared me, Timmy. I thought-I thought you weren't going to come back."

They were simple words that could have been said by any of his friends, but he caught the tremble in her voice and knew that this wasn't the normal worry about a friend. This was something- else. There was a look in her eyes that he hadn't seen there for a very long time. He knew that look. He knew he wore a similar one every time he saw her, though he tried to hide it. He felt his heart flip at what she didn't say, even as he tried to come up with something reassuring in reply to what she did say.

"Abby..." He knew he couldn't promise to always come back from whatever case or mission had taken them into the field; and he knew she knew it too. Being any sort of cop was a dangerous job, as Kate had proved. He reached out and stroked her hair. "I will always try and come back, Abby."

The sincerity in his words obviously got through to her, because he felt her relax the tiniest fraction. She fixed him with an intent gaze for a minute and then put her head back down on his chest. He knew that she'd seen how much he cared for her in that minute, and he knew that somehow, their relationship had changed subtly. They'd have a lot to talk about- when she was ready. But for now, he was content to lie here and hold her.


End file.
